


Repairs

by RiaTheDreamer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gold Team Shenanigans, Guilt, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: Who knew an arm-wrestling match could get so out of hand.Inspired by drawing by Creatrixanimi





	Repairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [creatrixanimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatrixanimi/gifts).



> Inspired by Creatrixanimi's awesome drawing which you can see here: http://creatrixanimi.tumblr.com/post/160067833177/i-imagine-that-simmons-has-to-get-maintenance-done

****Simmons’ cyborg stuff was cool. Not in shiny and futuristic and super strong kind of cool, but as in Grif just earned five bucks because of them kind of cool.

It had started with Simmons getting drunk because they had all survived a risky mission and that needed to be celebrated, so when Tucker found some of his well-hidden bottles no one had said no to a drink – or two or three.

For some reason - Grif’s memories were fuzzy around how the scene actually began - Simmons had ended up in an arm-wrestling match with Smith. A crowd had quickly gathered, with Grif hanging out in the couch with the Lieutenants sprawled out around him. “Are we sure this is a good idea?” Jensen asked, struggling with the _s_ ’s.

“He can take it,” Grif replied with a shrug, picking up his bottle to enjoy another sip. His eyes never left Simmons who was trying to figure out whether it was correct to use the right or left hand. When Smith turned out to be left-handed, Simmons matched him.

“Captain Simmons can be rather harsh on himself when facing defeat,” Jensen said quietly with worry evident in her voice.

“Who said he was talking ‘bout Simmons?” Bitters huffed, and for a moment Grif felt that weird twinge of not-disappointment that the Lieutenant would sometimes be the cause of whenever he revealed that he understood the way of the maverick. Of course he had not been talking about Simmons.

Palomo tilted his head. “No way Smith is losing. He’s like Captain America.”

Snorting again, Bitters told him, “Yeah? Good thing Simmons is literally Iro-“ And then he cut himself off, probably biting his own tongue as Grif kicked his shin. For a moment the Lieutenant scowled as he tried to figure out whether his Captain just really hated Iron Man or if he was a diehard Captain America fan, but then the realization slowly crept in on him and his expression returned to look absolutely casual. Alongside Grif he laid back in the couch, ready to see the scene play out.

Mavericks thought alike.

And Simmons was basically Iron Man with those cyborg limbs – an advantage most had seemed to forget. Understandable since they kept on their armor most of the time, only taking off their helmets to drink and eat. So people knew about Simmons being a cyborg due to the extra bling on his face but he was shy about it. Very few people knew about the arm and leg.

But Bitters belonged to the group of people. Only because he had once seen Grif’s arm, the arm that was not really Grif’s, and he had asked and he knew it was Simmons’. Which had led to the question how the heck Simmons still managed to have two arms.

Luckily no one had noticed Bitters shutting up that inexplicably because the match had started. A moment later the cheering began because some people didn’t use their brain properly and they couldn’t connect the dots and they couldn’t realize that this battle had a clear winner.

But Grif and Bitters knew how to spot a profit– because Gold ( _Orange_ ) Team fucking ruled – and they watched the scene without cheering but if they did not have such good poker faces then people would have seen the smug grins on their faces.

“Hey, Palomo,” Bitters said and shoved him with his elbow, “taking bets against your Captain America?”

He glanced towards the table where the match was still happening. “I don’t know…”

But Bitters knew it was just a matter of time before the opportunity had passed so he pressed on. “Time’s running.”

“Fine. Ten bucks on Smith and his arm muscles.”

Then Jensen asked without moving her eyes from the scene in front of them. “Can I put my money on Captain Simmons?”

“No girls allowed,” Bitters replied quickly, actually leaning a bit forward in his seat, knowing it was only a matter of seconds left before the metal hand won. No reason to share the price with Jensen.

“Don’t be sexist, Antoine.”

“This is a private bet.” And then the crowd went wild. Bitters fell back against the couch with a smirk on his face. “Which I just won. Pay up.”

When Palomo had handed over the cash and he was sulking in the couch while Bitters was counting his price with a smug expression, Grif kicked his Lieutenant again. “Captain gets fifty percent.”

“Yeah, right.”

Bitters had just waved him off when Grif leaned down and reminded him quietly, “My idea, cockbite.”

After a moment of grumbling, Bitters reluctantly pressed some bills into his hand.  Grif was counting them – who knew how big a maverick Bitters could be – when a drunk Simmons almost tripped on his way back to the couch.

“Grif, did you see me?” he slurred in excitement, pointing back at the table where Smith was patting Palomo on the back. “I won!”

“You sure did,” Grif said and put his price in his pocket. “Good job, Simmons.”

Simmons’ face was one big grin when he dropped down next to Grif, sinking into the couch. “You saw me, right?” he asked again, human eye wide while the cyborg kept adjusting the size of the pupil.

“Yep.” Simmons always became touchy when he was drunk, practically leaning against Grif with a stupid, proud grin on his smile. Grif would not mind letting Simmons participate in arm wrestling competition again if the results would be this.

…Actually, he most certainly would not mind this happening again. “Wasn’t that fun, Simmons?” he asked in a tone that would guide him towards the right answer.

Simmons’ eyes widened in horror and he stared at his left arm as if it had betrayed him. “Did I… Grif, did I _cheat_?”

“Don’t worry, we won’t tell.”

“Oh my god.” He kept opening and closing his mouth, a bit like a dying fish, and when he turned his head to try to spot Smith, Grif was unsure whether he was going to apologize or just start crying. Drunk Simmons had a tendency to sob. “Grif, oh my god, Grif, oh god, I am a bad guy.”

“Nah. Shame on them for not doing their homework.” Grif slung an arm around Simmons’ shoulders, making sure he did not attempt to suddenly flee from the couch to beg for forgiveness. At first Simmons stiffened by the touch but then his lightweight brain took it as a signal to nap and his eyes just dropped.

Simmons’ face was pressed against his arm and he was probably drooling and everything but Grif did not shove him off – he was in a good mood, he just earned himself some extra cash. He was drunk and so was Simmons, and drunk Simmons was never truly stressed out like sober Simmons, and things were just _nice_.

By the time Bitters showed up Simmons was fast asleep. “’Sup?” he asked casually but the look on his face was enough to make Grif flip him off. He tilted his head towards the other Captain. “So I know some competitive assholes who would love to put money on themselves.”

And it was about then the glorious scam began. With perfect, orange creativity it was easy to convince various soldiers to test their luck against Simmons. A Captain so glorious that he would only use his left and the others would have to match that. Rumors were quickly spread about how he gained such a strong hand; some said he used two mice while nerding at the computer, or that like most men he just a preferred hand or-

The hardest part was actually to get Simmons to play along. The challengers came by himself, Bitters creating a few remarks here and there to ensure the mood.

“Wha-, no, Grif, _why_ would I participate in an arm wrestling match?” he asked, frowning from the headache. No doubt he was going to blame Grif for his hangover but the both knew they all had fun the night before.

“’cause you _won_ one yesterday?” Grif reminded him. “ _And_ you were proud of it.”

“I was drunk!” He let out a dignified huff. “Now I am sober and responsible. Why the fuck should I be competing against the soldiers?”

“Because they think you’re cool?”

Simmons froze.

Grif hid his smug smile, watching calmly as Simmons turned around, frown, considering the situation, and then slowly letting surprise taint his expression. “They’re really thinking that?” He was sounding hopeful and that was just almost sad.

“C’mon, Simmons, would I lie to you?” Grif snorted to prove his point. “You showed what you are capable of last night. But you have to keep up your reputation.”

It was amusing how easy it was to see how Simmons does a mental lists of the pros and cons by following Grif’s advice. But slowly the frown was eased away, and when Simmons blinked twice Grif knew he had made his decision. “What if I lose?”

“You won’t. I’ve got your back, buddy. I’ll tell them all about the terms of service and that sorta shit.”

Grif _almost_ had his victory when Simmons tilted his head, eyes narrowed, “What do _you_ get out of it?”

“You mean, besides seeing you get some self confidence for the first time in your life? I do enjoy the look in their eyes when they lose to the lankiest guy on this planet.”

“I’m – I’m not- I’m sure there’s someone else who-“ Simmons sputtered, face growing red. In the end he just settled with a insult. “Whatever. I can still beat you.”

“Oh, Simmons,” Grif said in glee, “you can beat everybody.”

And so he did. With Bitters rousing up people in the background, testing your strength against the Captain of Red Team had become the new test of manhood. Mainly because people had a difficult time believing a guy like Simmons had the arm muscle to beat every contestant.

Grif made sure to bring the cyborg, and Bitters made sure to start to bets with the willing people in the crowd. It was not always money, but often it could be stuff like extra rations – which to Gold Team was better than an actual cash prize.

Things were running smoothly, Grif and Bitters were keeping everyone busy while doubling their secret stash –

And then they heard of the rumor.

Carolina was apparently going to join the fun.

Which could mean two things. Either she had found out about Grif and Bitters’ scam and was going to stop them – in that case: _shit_ . Or she could not resist the temptation of challenging the Captain who was now rumored to be the strongest person on the planet – in that case: _shit_.

Grif and Bitters, being clever and certainly not panicking, hid in the storage room of the mess hall.

Simmons, being stupid and certainly panicking, lost his shit and decided to get rid of his cursed arm before Carolina could find him. And because Simmons was a living disaster under pressure, that meant he threw his arm out of the window.

"I am sorry for apparently putting pressure on you but also that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” Carolina let them know as she hauled them both towards Doctor Grey’s office.

Bitters had managed to escape before they were caught–but now he was in even bigger troubles since Grif would later let him know the punishment for throwing his Captain to the wolves like that.

Simmons was physically fine–well, except for the lack of arm–but Grey had him rest on a gurney while they searched for his arm.

At least Simmons seemed to forget about the loss of limb as he was to focused on being furious about the scam. “You were earning money on me!”

Grif waved him off. “I was going to buy you something nice.”

“Good news!” Doctor Grey announced as she stepped inside the room. “We’ve found your arm.”

She was followed by Jensen who carried the limb with her arms outstretched, as if crowning a king. “Technically Matthews found it. He’s apparently spent the entire afternoon asking people if they needed a hand.”

“It’s a bit scratched,” Grey admitted which might be an understatement since the arm looked like a dog had used it as a chewing toy. Grif was pretty sure he saw some sparks jump from it.

Jensen giggled. “You can say that throwing it out of the window was not a _h-armless_ act.” She then laughed dorkly at her own pun.

Simmons looked like he was about to die but that was probably due to the state of his arm rather than the bad humor.

“It is in need of some repairs.” The doctor took the arm from Jensen, turning it over as she investigated the damage. Then she suddenly looked upwards, visor set on Simmons. “But I was wondering if you would let me have a look at your other cybernetic parts as well? From what I hear it’s been more than a while since your last check up.”

“…How much would you take?” Simmons said, voice matching the frown on his forehead.

“Oh, just the things we can actually pull off you with no big troubles. I’d love to take a look at your artificial organs as well but lets save the surgeries for another day. Unless you are volunteering?”

“No thanks.”

“You should take a look at his eye,” Grif joked. “It keeps narrowing.”

Simmons just proved his point. “Because you are in the room, dipshit.”

“It’s doing it again.”

“Yes, I was certainly counting on doing a check up on the eyeball as well.” Grey merely chirped, completely missing the joke.

Grif frowned and wondered when eyeballs had been categorized under stuff that was easy to pull off a body.

* * *

Simmons groaned, slamming the back of his head against the gurney. “This is _your_ fault! I wouldn’t need repairs if we never started that dumbfuck arm-wrestling scam!”

Grif looked out of the small window, imagining how the arm would have looked if Simmons had dropped it from here. “Dude, I’m not the one who threw your arm out of a window.”

At this point Simmons just let out some incoherent screeching.

“This should help.” Grey said when she entered the room with a single crutch. A pair of crutches was out of question since he now only had one arm to work with and he was too stubborn to choose the wheelchair.

Simmons barely made it a meter before stumbling but when Grif took a step forward he sent him a telling glare with his only remaining eye. Grif looked out of the window again.

“I should have your parts ready in a day or two. You’ve worn them well, I’ll have them all tuned for you.”

Grif snorted. “Make that eyeball extra shiny.”

“Rather we deal with the maintenance now than have you malfunctioning on the field,” Grey said as she held the door for them. “That would be rather inconvenient.”

Simmons nodded grimly and slowly made his way into the hallway.

Grif followed him. It was rather easy to keep up since Simmons was agonizingly slow, having to balance his weight with only one crutch while slowly hobble his way forward. He was radiating a cloud of _pissed off-ness_ that would make even Jensen keep her distance.

They were heading back to their shared room, knowing Simmons would not be of much use until he got his limbs back. And while Grif could sense his presence was not welcomed, he made sure to remain close in case Simmons fell. As if the nerd could get on his feet by himself.

“We could tell people that Carolina tore off your arm,” he finally said to break the silence. “That would be a cool story.”

“I think you have done enough for my reputation,” Simmons hissed, focusing on the path ahead.

Oh well. Walking in silence it was probably the preferred choice then.

Grif held the door as Simmons stumbled inside their room. He settled down in his own bed while Simmons basically fell into his. While Simmons settled in as well as he could, Grif could not help but watch him from the corner of his eye.

He had seen Simmons without his arm numerous times before. It was not a common occurrence, but sometimes his fingers would begin to twitch and act up, and a few times he had actually caught a bullet in Simmon’s limb. He had seen him without his leg before as well, but only for a short time where Simmons would be sitting down, adjusting some things and then put it back on. He had never needed crutches before.

To see the nerd without both limbs was… weird. The trouser leg had been rolled up and tied into a knot, ending just after the knee. Simmons was a skinny and lanky guy but like this he just seemed… _more_ skinny and lanky. It was hard to imagine him as powerful Captain who was supposed to end this war. It was even harder to just imagine him surviving a fight, all crippled like this.

The most unsettling thing was probably the eye. Grif had never seen Simmons without his eye before – for numerous fucking good reasons. You didn’t expect a dude to just take off his eye like this. Now Grif just imagined Sarge scooping out Simmons’ eye with an ice scoop before stuffing it into Grif’s face.

…He wondered what had happened to his own eye after the accident.

Well, the thought about his snack stash under his bed was suddenly not so appealing. He did not feel hungry.

“I want you to appreciate my lack of pirate jokes,” he told Simmons, gesturing towards his eye patch.

“It is simply _touching,_ ” Simmons spat from his bed. He shifted, eye set on the drawer in the other end of the room. “Fetch me my datapad. I won’t miss work because of this.”

Grif flopped weakly in his bed. “C’mon, I just lay down. My legs are tired, I’ve been running from Carolina all day.”

”At least you have two legs -one of which is actually mine, you’re welcome- so use them and get me my datapad!”

Grif glared at Simmons, let out a groan but then did as he was told. “I’m just saying, you taking a break won’t harm anyone. I’m pretty sure the army will survive without your spreadsheets or whatever nerdy stuff you are keeping yourself busy with.”

“It’s important work, Grif!”

“Dude, you are missing an arm, a leg and an eye!” Grif threw up his hands after shoving the datapad into Simmons’ outstretched hand. “This is literally the only excuse Kimball _might_ accept to give you a day off.”

“Well, I’m not like you. I take pride in fulfilling my duties-“

“-which is why I call you a kissass.” Grif ran a hand through his hair before pointing at the datapad Simmons was yet to turn on. “Can’t you at least be normal and watch porn or something? Actually, wait, don’t do that with me in the room.”

Simmons looked at him which was still unnerving because of that eyepatch. Grif could not help but wonder how it looked like underneath. “You want me to watch porn?” he asked flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t! I-“ His eye darted to the datapad. “It needs its charger.”

Grif grumbled something under his breath, threw up his hands and marched towards the drawer again. “Want a glass of water while you’re at it?”

Simmons’ remaining arm proved surprisingly strong as he picked up his crutch and threw it at Grif who had to jump out of the way. “Right, fuck it, I’m leaving.”

“Fine. I don’t need you.” Simmons hesitated, but then had to add sourly, “Actually, I need you to give me back my crutch but _then_ I don’t need you.”

Grif opened his mouth but closed it again as he crouched down to pick up the crutch. From this position he looked up at Simmons who had turned his head to stare at the wall which only made it so much easier for him to look at that stupid eyepatch.

Trying to remember if he had eaten any snacks with a suspicious old-looking wrapping, Grif felt his stomach churn. “Would you stop looking like that?” his stupid mouth asked for him.

Simmons was looking at him again which did not make anything better. “What?”

“Like those horror images they have about soldiers returning from war, looking so fucked up that people feel sorry for them and wants to stop the whole thing. I mean, show them a picture of you and people _might_ just give a shit about Sim Troopers-”

“I _know_ how I look, Grif,” Simmons said, voice high and weird.

“-except these aren’t even injuries,” Grif continued his rant, “You fucking- You volunteered to-  So would you knock it off?”

Using his one palm so it up straighter in the bed, Simmons snorted, “ _Sure_. I’ll just magically grow out my limbs.”

“Just- Stop with the _look_. Stop trying to guilt-trip me.”

Simmons’ mouth fell open. “I’m not guilt-tripping you.”

“ _Right_ . Then why am I feeling _this_ \- “ Unable to find the right words Grif just gestured wildly towards his chest where that weird feeling would appear whenever Simmons looked so odd.

“Okay, I guilt-tripped you a bit but just to get my stupid datapad-“

“I didn’t throw your arm out of the window-“

“I know!”

“And I never asked for you to give them up,” Grif told him sternly, “so gimme a break.”

Simmons looked so surprised that Grif feared his eyepatch would fall out. “You- You think I’m blaming you for that?” He shifted on the bed again, adjusting his leg stump.

Grif crossed his arms. “I never asked. Couldn’t ask even if I wanted to; you all said I’ve never slept harder in my life which I still disagree with ‘cause you-“

“Well, it never really mattered-“

“’course it didn’t because you’re so fucking stupid. Out of the window, Simmons, really?” Grif deadpanned as he stared at him. He really hoped the soldiers would go with the rumor about Carolina tearing off his arm because _shit_ the real reason was idiotic. “Still not stupider than saying yes.”

“Grif-“

“I’m just saying I’m the only one in this room with two legs right now.” Grif paused, tightening his grip on the stupid crutch and used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “And I’ll just be using those two legs to leave.”

“It wasn’t stupid.” Simmons actually looked like he was about to leave the bed but Grif was still holding onto the crutch.

He snorted loudly. “Throwing your arm out of the window sounds just as stupid as it must have looked. Definitely in my top three most stupid things to do – uhm, those involving cyborg bits at least.”

“Not that! I know that was stupid –“

“Then why did you do it?!”

“I panicked! You know I don’t think well under pressure!”

“Did you panic back then?”

“Yes! Of course, I-“ He froze, eye going wide when he saw Grif’s expression. When he tried to move forward on his bed, he almost lost his balance, having to support himself with his remaining arm. “Shit, no, I didn’t –“

Grif set his jaw. “You panicked and you did stupid things. Yeah, yeah, I know the routine.” He knew Simmons, knew him well, he should have seen this coming.

“Of course I panicked! You were – You don’t know how you looked back then. It wasn’t- wasn’t pretty. There wasn’t a lot of time, and I panicked, yes, but that… That doesn’t make it stupid.”

A weird sound left the back of Grif’s throat, all scratchy and uncomfortable. “Pretty sure everyone else would disagree with you.”

“What about you?”

He could not stop the corner of his mouth from going upwards, just a tiny bit. “Look, I _love_ being alive. Seriously. Being alive is my favorite hobby. But, yeah, your choice was pretty fucking stupid, Simmons.”

Simmons looked like he wanted to wring his hands, distraught by the fact that he could not. Instead he grabbed the sheet, clutching it tightly. “Well,” he finally said, “I don’t regret it.” There was a moment of tick silence before Simmons quickly added, “But I am still totally blaming you for starting a scam. I will guilt-trip you for that. You will fetch my stuff and you will share your stash with me.”

Something left Grif’s chest, a feeling so weird he almost ended up resting against the crutch. It was a nice feeling though. Not painful. “Wow. That’s a bit demanding, Simmons. You could ask nicely.” He let himself smirk to match Simmons’ softened expression.

Simmons rolled his only eye. “You owe me.”

Grif looked down at the crutch and then placed it in the corner of the room. Simmons did not protest to his relief. “Hey, if you’re getting all fancy and shiny parts, are you going to get your ass polished?” Grif asked as he sat down next to him on the bed.

He almost fell out of the bed when Simmons elbowed him in the side. “You wish.”

“…Do you really think the soldiers will believe Carolina tore off my arm?” he then quietly asked Grif once again settled down next to him. He almost sounded hopeful.

“I could force Bitters to spread the rumor. The guy owes me big time. But here’s the important question, Simmons.” He reached out for the datapad, wondering how quickly he could convince Kimball that Simmons’ needed an extra set of hands during maintenance. Nothing like a day off if you could spend it together. Especially when Simmons was literally unable to leave the bed. “Can you still watch _Star Wars_ with one eye?”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, check out the amazing drawing here: http://creatrixanimi.tumblr.com/post/160067833177/i-imagine-that-simmons-has-to-get-maintenance-done  
> So this is a gift for Creatrixanimi, because when I saw it I adored how vulnerable Simmons looked without his parts, and then I ended up thinking how guilty Grif would feel. Also credit to Creatrixanimi for some of the lines in this story, plus the Gold Team Scam was something we came up with together in one of our discussions about Simmons. I hope you enjoyed! <3
> 
> And thanks to my lovely beta Mio who also came up with the pun summary - gosh, I love puns


End file.
